Azra

“Thanks” Buck sighs. “And I did not give you all of my blood. I would not be standing here if I did.”

“I’m glad,” Eddie says with a soft little smile. Buck looks up from where he’s been inspecting the new bandage around his palm. “Me too. That you’re here.” It’s so simple, yet so incredibly sweet that Eddie feels heat rising to his cheeks. Blood rising to the surface. Buck’s blood.

“Still. It’s - a lot of your blood that’s - in me now.” Eddie has no idea what he’s saying. He only knows that Buck is looking at him thoughtfully now and - when did he move this close? Buck seems to consider him for a second before he brings his uninjured hand up to Eddie’s face and touches the back of his knuckles carefully to Eddie’s flaming hot cheek.

“Here,” Buck says quietly. “My blood. I’m in your veins.” He sounds awestruck.

Eddie inhales sharply. They stare at each other in silence, eyes huge. Buck’s statement seems to have shocked himself just as much as it has shocked Eddie. He takes another shaky breath and says exactly what he’s been wondering. Making himself crazy over, actually.

“Does it turn you on?”

“Yes,” Buck rushes out, before Eddie has even fully completed the sentence. It’s a relief for both of them, a joint exhale, and at the same time, it makes everything that much worse. “Oh god.”

Eddie slowly raises his own hand to the one that Buck is still pressing reverently to his burning cheek and takes it carefully in his. “Where else?”

Buck understands what he means. He never has to explain himself to Buck. And especially with this, they have been on the same page for days. Ever since Eddie got out of the hospital, fully discharged after a few days because the wound in itself wasn’t bad, it was just the blood loss that had been pretty severe. Ever since he got out of the hospital he had not been able to stop thinking about Buck’s blood in his veins. Had looked at himself in the mirror and wondered if he could see a difference. He thinks he can.

“Where else?” he repeats and lets go of Bucks hand so Buck can run his fingertips down the side of his neck and stop at his pulse point. “Here,” Buck says, amazed. He runs his fingers further down his throat, fitting his whole palm against Eddie’s collarbone. “And here.” He  smooths his palm down Eddie’s left arm until he’s at his wrist, feeling his pulse there too. “Here.”

Buck keeps his fingertips there for a moment, seemingly content to feel the blood thundering through Eddie’s veins. Eddie wonders if it feels as powerful to Buck as it does to him. Eddie’s been feeling powerful for days.

Buck is looking down at his own hand at Eddie’s side and seems to consider something. Then he lifts the hem of Eddies shirt just a little, just enough to creep his fingertips under it and lay his palm flat against his abs. “Here, too.”

Eddie shivers under Buck’s touch. “Yeah,” he whispers, agreeing or giving permission, he doesn’t know. “Yeah, fuck.”

This seems to encourage Buck who now runs his hand under Eddies shirt up to his chest with a new urgency. When he thumbs a nipple and says: “Here,” Eddie whimpers quietly. Buck gives the other nipple the same treatment. Buck’s bandaged hand is on Eddie’s hip, steadying, holding on. Buck tips his head and now their foreheads are resting against each other, both of them breathing heavier by the minute. Eddie is glad for the support, feels faint, even though this time it feels kind of wonderful. They both closed their eyes at some point, and Eddie reaches up to support himself with his forearms on Buck’s shoulders. Buck’s palm is now pressed directly over Eddie’s heart.

“Where else?” Eddie whispers, and it’s so quiet he’s surprised Buck even hears him at all. But before Eddie can consider what he’s implying, Buck slides his hand down Eddie’s torso, down his abs, down the fine trail of hair on his belly, and squeezes the bulge in Eddie’s sweatpants. “Here.”

Person holding the microphone: Hello sir/ma'am! How are your clinic days passing?

One’s a standard, dark navy LAFD mug, one of a good half-dozen or so that have somehow found their way here from the station. The other is bright green, covered in cutesy cartoon animals, proudly proclaiming ‘I went WILD at the LA zoo!’ Christopher had a sticker of the same design plastered onto the hardtop of his pencil case for most of fourth grade. Eddie always thought the elephant was a little wall-eyed, would joke about him needing medical attention for the stroke.

The mugs are the first thing Eddie sees when he walks into his kitchen, the things his sleep-drenched mind chooses to focus on. The navy is filled to the brim, the coffee a deep black that’s surely masking an extra spoonful or two of sugar. He can’t see the contents of the other, already mostly drunk away, but it’s doubtlessly lighter, though probably not the creamy tan Eddie’s been seeing for years, since the apparently permanent change over to oat milk. Oat milk that now lives in his own refrigerator, too.

There’s a plate piled high with silver dollar pancakes set out on the island. Chris has already helped himself to more than his fair share, cheeks bulging with the ones he’s already shoved into his mouth. He’s now slowly and carefully moving some onto Theo’s plate. Theo must have been given some of the watermelon Eddie had cut up yesterday afternoon but it’s already gone, pink juice staining his chin and the front of his monster truck pajamas as he gleefully sucks each one of his sticky fingers.

Eddie closes his eyes.

It’s a far cry from their last morning all together like this. Just a few days ago he had woken up in the same way; alone in the bed he had had to share, drawn to the kitchen by sounds of life and gnawing hunger. Chris, sullen and cranky after another night camped out on Buck’s couch, had snapped at Theo to just shut up already. And Theo had screamed and screamed until Buck picked him up, balancing him on one hip, letting him bury his snotty, tear-stained face into his neck. Buck’s expression would twist and he’d quietly grunt every time a tiny socked foot dug into the softness of his belly. That was not a day for pancakes, and Eddie had watched Buck struggle to try and pour out cereal and milk with only one hand free.

Eddie had barely taken a step closer, ready to take some part of it over, but had received his own snapped I got it for his efforts.

He had closed his eyes then, too, listening to Buck’s coffee maker as it burbled to life – Buck had forgotten to set the timer, but at least it gave Eddie something to do. By the time the coffee was done, there was barely enough time to drink it, the countdown to getting out the door already well under way. Eddie ended up burning his tongue, had spent the rest of the day scraping the numb roughness of it against the roof of his mouth.

It had felt the same, that morning, in that kitchen full of distress and upset. The same as it feels now, in this kitchen full of warmth and laughter and, most importantly, pancakes.